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Matt knew long before he walked into his flat that someone -no, Peter- was on his couch. As he opened the door he amended it to Peter is curled up on my couch. It wasn't totally unusual for a fellow masked hero to show up unannounced, but Peter usually shot him a text first.
And Peter never showed up in his costume.
"Pete?" Matt cautiously approached, taking in the way his friend's arms held his legs to his chest. He smelled like sweat and adrenaline, a mix of dirt and a blood- and salt. Tears.
He was awake, his breathing coming in shallow rasps and his heart rate was erratic. But he didn't answer Matt's cautious call.
"Hey," Matt tried again as he stood awkwardly in front of Peter.
Peter drew a few shaky breaths and lifted his head from his knees. "I didn't know where else to go."
The words were thick with emotion, Peter sounded so lost, so utterly broke, and Matt didn't know how to respond. He wanted to pull his friend into his arms and whisper sweet nothings, tell him everything would be okay, that he was safe- and loved.
Instead, he sat a safe distance away, resisting the constant urge he had to touch.
Not that his self restraint mattered; the moment Matt’s back hit the cushion Peter was across the couch and wrapped around his side. He could feel the wetness where Peter's head rested on his shoulder and Matt snaked an arm around to hold him close, to make him feel safe.
Still in the dark about what had Peter so distraught, Matt could only hold him and wait. His heart constricted as he felt another tremor against his side. How long had he been in love with this man? In love and hopeless to do anything about it, doomed to only be friends, colleagues, watching from the sidelines as Peter fell in love with a beautiful woman. How long?
How long, indeed. Was it the moment Peter walked into his Econ class, radiating the type of brightness only a freshman could? And how he never lost his eagerness, even surrounded by jaded students like Matt? Maybe that was the beginning of his downfall. Was it the day Peter showed up to his dorm with coffee and pizza at midnight when Foggy and Matt were both sick and studying for an exam? It could have been the first time he fought side by side with Spider-Man since meeting Peter and recognized Peter's heartbeat when he held him close as they swung over the city. That had been a friendship changing revelation, afterall.
Looking back, he couldn't pick out a single moment which made him fall in love, but he did know the moment he had actually realized it. It was the last final of Matt’s spring semester and he was feeling good as he walked out of the exam room. Foggy was in exams the rest of the afternoon, so he made his way to Peter's dorm- and his own doom.
He'd met Gwen before, seen her around the campus, so he recognized her easily enough as the person standing in front of Peter as he approached. She'd been introduced to him as Peter's friend from highschool, but, judging by the way her lips were pressed against his, she now seemed to be more.
How embarrassing that it took the dark tendril of jealousy to realize his feelings for Peter. No one ever accused Matt of being good at self reflection.
Peter shifted and sniffled, pulling Matt back to the present. His hair was soft in his fingers- just when had he moved his hand to Peter's head? Matt continued to softly card his fingers through Peter's hair, feeling guilty for taking such a liberty even if it seemed to help Peter relax.
"Are you afraid to die?" Was not what Matt was expecting Peter to say. But the hoarse words hovered between them, demanding a response Matt wasn't sure how to give. Was that what had Peter upset? A close call? They had those daily.
He wanted to ask, demand, yell and curse, until he got an answer from Peter. But, his friend, his love, seemed so fragile, ready to break completely, into so many peices he may never be put back together completely.
So, instead, Matt was honest. "Yes." He hesitated before continuing, "but I'm more afraid of losing those close to me."
He meant for it to make Peter feel better, loved and safe. Instead, Peter pressed his head harder into Matt’s shoulder and openly wept, a heartwrenching sound echoing through the quiet apartment.
Matt held Peter until his breathing evened out and his body relaxed as sleep claimed him.
_______
He made coffee at 9am, hoping the smell would rouse Peter. His back was a little stiff from the few hours of sleep he managed on the couch, but he paid it no mind, his thoughts too focused on Peter.
He felt Peter get up before he heard him, and pressed a mug into his hands as he entered the kitchen.
"I'm glad you can't see how shit I look." Peter held the mug with both hands and leaned against the counter. "Sorry for… this. For last night."
Matt shook his head, he didn't have the heart to tell Peter that he could feel the moisture on his cheeks. "I'm always here for you, Pete. Do you want any breakfast? I think I still have some eggs."
He pushed down the urge to demand answers, ask who he should direct his rage toward for Peter's state the night before.
"I… no." Peter turned towards him, his heart rate spiking. As words began to tumble out, so did fresh tears. Peter haltingly told Matt the events of the previous night, and as his story continued, began to include Gwen, Matt could only listen as a cold pit formed in his stomach.
It took all of Matt’s willpower to remain where he was, to not close the distance and pull Peter against him, hold him so tight he couldn't ever leave, couldn't continue to tell him this horrible story. He didn't, couldn't. Peter wanted to, needed to, tell him. And by the end of his retelling, reliving Gwen's death, Peter was a blubbering mess, and Matt’s willpower broke.
He couldn't fix it, couldn't turn back time or raise the dead. He could only hold Peter close, his heart heavy as he sobbed into his chest. There was nothing Matt could say or do to heal Peter's pain, and he briefly wondered if even time could. Peter lost the woman he loved, and clearly blamed himself more than the villain- and Matt couldn't say he would feel any different if their positions were flipped, if it had been Peter falling and Matt hadn't been enough.
All he could do was helplessly rub circles on Peter's back, hold him close, and whisper nothings into the top of his head.